


Only Married on TV

by Annakovsky



Category: Saturday Night Live RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-31
Updated: 2011-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 23:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annakovsky/pseuds/Annakovsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day he curses his stupid luck that Will's the tall skinny videogame-playing dork who got to her first.</p><p>(Written for the NBC kink meme, for the prompt, "Seth Meyers/Amy Poehler, past!sex. Another use for his Update necktie, since it's always all disheveled anyway. (Bonus points for office sex and bossy!Amy.)")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Married on TV

He's had a crush on her since the first moment he saw her, and since the first moment she saw him, she's thought of him like a brother. Story of his life. And he's even her type -- every day he curses his stupid luck that Will's the tall skinny videogame-playing dork who got to her first. He's convinced that somewhere there's an alternate universe where he's the one who's married to her, and Will's the loser dating a succession of women who always seem to disappoint him.

Conan needed a guest at the last minute, so Seth threw a jacket and tie on over his jeans and work sneakers and ran down to help out. Now it's three in the morning and he's still wearing the tie, mostly because he's too lazy to take it off, though he at least ditched the jacket and rolled up his shirt-sleeves. He and Amy are holed up in his office working on Update, and it's the stage of the evening where they're sitting on the floor with the remains of Chinese food scattered around them, Amy's head resting on her fist as she shuffles headlines in front of her.

"You know what's funny about terrorism?" Amy says, frowning at the articles.

"Nothing," Seth says absently, trying to think of a joke about Homeland Security warning levels that isn't too played out.

"Nothing," Amy agrees. It's a comforting exchange, old habit, the way they've settled into each other over the years.

The first time she kissed him, he thought she was doing a bit. They had been fake making out for awhile, smashing their faces together when Hilary Swank hosted, him throwing her down on a table to fake-ravish her. Amy thought it was super hilarious and Seth... um, also thought it was super hilarious. So when Amy started to lean into him on another three am night, when the building was darkish and empty-ish like this and it was just him and her in his office, he was already trying not to break, cheek muscles tight from trying not to smile. When the kiss was soft and she opened her mouth, at first he thought she was just going farther with the bit, like, haha, wouldn't it be funny if we made out for real. It took him a good 30 seconds to realize she was actually kissing him. When he admitted that to her weeks later, she laughed at him for like an hour.

Not that they do stuff all the time. Just when she's stressed out and needs to relieve the tension.

She's stressed out tonight, forehead furrowed, shooting down all his joke ideas.

"What about this one?" he says, holding up one article they've been looking at. "With the punchline, 'Because Kevin Federline is, first and foremost, a scientist.'"

Amy groans, slumping back against the side of his desk theatrically. "Seth," she says. "C'mon. A Federline joke? You're better than that."

"Uh, first of all, I am not," he says. "Where'd you get that idea? Second of all, it'll work, so whatever."

"Who cares if it works? It's so lazy," she says. "No. Next."

"God, you next, if you're going to be like that," he says.

"Se-eth," she whines, lolling her head back against the desk, feet splayed in front of her in her Converse sneakers. "It's late and I'm tired and cranky."

He knows what she's really saying she wants, but he's not going to give her the satisfaction of initiating anything when she's just hinting around. If she needs to get off, that's her business. He needs to stop this whole thing with her anyway -- it's slowly ruining his life, how he's stupidly in love with her and always has been and can't disentangle himself. He thought sleeping with her would maybe help get her out of his system, but it turns out that is the dumbest thought he's ever had.

Not that she knows he's in love with her -- if she did, she'd probably stop this herself. Which is one reason he never tells her.

"That's too bad," he says, jotting down his Federline joke and turning back to the papers in front of him.

"Se-eth," she says again, kicking her foot at him, but when he doesn't react, she sits up, leaning forward. When he still ignores her, she finally grabs him by the tie. "Meyers," she says, her voice lower and mock-serious. "Get over here."

He shakes his head at her, but he's already trying not to smile. "You're not the boss of me," he says as she pulls him in, their faces getting close.

"Since when?" she says. She's smiling, already cheering up, and she kisses him wet and dirty, her hand coming up to cup the back of his neck. He breathes in through his nose and kisses her back, sighing as she climbs into his lap like a spider monkey, all scrawny arms and legs. She tugs on his tie. "Why are you still wearing this?" she says as he starts to kiss down her jaw. "You look like a loser."

"I look classy," he says against her skin as she starts to undo the knot. " _You_ look like you're 12." She's wearing a t-shirt with Rainbow Brite on it. He doesn't know if it's supposed to be ironic or nostalgic or if someone just gave it to her as a joke. Maybe all those things at once. He slides a hand up under the fabric, touching the bare skin of her back, then moving around to her stomach, toward her breasts.

"If I look 12, what does that make you?" she says, laughing as he feels her up, and tugs his now-undone tie out from his collar. "Unhand me, pervert," she says, pulling his hands out in front of him, and then she's tying his wrists together with his own tie before he quite knows what's happening.

"Hey!" he says, but doesn't really try to pull away. "What are you doing?" Her fingers are quick, tying him up nimble and efficient.

"Showing I'm the boss of you," she says, and leans in again, nipping at his earlobe and pressing his arms back and to the right. He squirms away, laughing a little helplessly at the feel of her teeth, and when she pulls back he's tied to the radiator. Hey, what the fuck?

"Amy," he says, but now she's unbuttoning his shirt, baring his chest, and seriously, what is she doing? "Poehls!"

"Say that I'm the boss of you," she says, grinning up at him, then leaning in to lick his collarbone. Every time she moves, her body grinds against his cock, and he's getting so weirdly turned on, it's really disturbing.

"Uh, I think right now you're more a hostage-taker than a boss," he says. "Seriously, the radiator?"

"Ve vill make you talk," Amy says, in the worst Russian accent he's ever heard, then licks over his nipple in a way that makes him squirm.

"Fuck," he gasps out. "That is a terrible accent. You're a professional impressionist, that's a disgrace."

She laughs really hard -- that's always his favorite thing about her, how even though she's a comedian she still laughs really hard at other people's jokes -- and starts undoing the fly on his jeans, her hand grazing his cock. He groans and moves to grab her hips, but his hands come up short because, oh, yeah, he's tied to the radiator. Fuck, he wants to touch her, this is ridiculous. He sucks in a breath through his teeth as she gets his cock out, and she runs her hand up it briskly, smirking at him and watching how his hips jerk forward into her grip.

"Admit it, Meyers," she says. "I own your ass."

She's flushed and beautiful, yellow hair falling over her shoulders, looking at him with bright eyes, and God, he's in love with her. He swallows and tilts his head, trying to smile. "You own my ass," he says, but it comes out a little quieter than he means it to.

Amy's smile falters for a second, like it sounded a little too real to her too, but after a second she blinks it away, running her thumb over the head of his dick. "That's 'cause I'm the boss of you," she says. "Which makes sense, since I have seniority."

Seth snorts, trying to keep his composure as she strokes his cock once more, then goes for her own fly. "Uh, we had the _same first show_ ," he says.

She laughs. "No, I meant Update seniority!" she says, all chipper, because she loves pointing this out. "Because remember that time that we both auditioned to do it with Tina and I totally kicked your ass?"

He shakes his head at her, trying to stay stern, but she's wiggling around so much trying to get her jeans down that she keeps brushing his cock and distracting him, these little touches that are driving him crazy. "Dammit, Poehler," he says, but it comes out all laugh-y, the way it always does.

She's getting tangled up in her jeans, trying to work them just far enough down her hips, but they're getting caught around her knees, and she's obviously getting frustrated with it. "You know," Seth says, after watching her for a second, getting more and more annoyed about how he can't help speed this along because his hands are literally tied. "This would be much easier if you were wearing a skirt."

She flips him the bird. "Fuck you, buddy!" she says cheerfully, then finally wrenches her jeans down and climbs back on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips. He goes to touch her again, and gets pulled up short again by the tie, and this time she sees it and laughs, leaning in to kiss him. "Like I said, I own your ass," she says, the last word getting muffled in his mouth, and God, she really does. His stomach flips over as she touches him, hands slipping over his chest down his bare sides, inside his shirt, and she's still almost fully dressed, so he feels like she has the advantage even more.

She reaches down for his cock, slipping it in between her legs, and then she's sinking down onto him with no preamble, already wet and ready, and Seth groans, trying to press forward to kiss her harder, but held up again by the tie, and finally he just gives in to the stupid helplessness of it, embracing the feeling. When she pulls back from kissing him, he drops his head back to the wall behind him, letting it rest there, just watching her, letting her do what she wants to him.

It's weird to see her have sex for real, even now, after they've done this so much. For so many years he just saw her do, like, comedy sex at improv, all exaggerated, funny porn star moves, so he keeps expecting it to turn into that somehow, all a big joke. It's always strange when it stays serious and focused, her starting to fuck herself slowly on his cock, long, drawn out strokes, kissing him with her fingertips resting on his face and his chest. She's wet and hot and tight around him, not joking at all, and he loves the way her face goes slack and sweet when she does this, looking at him and biting her lip, flush spreading down to her chest, at least where he can see above the neck of her t-shirt.

He starts rocking his hips up to meet her, picking up the pace the way she likes, and she moves a hand down to rub her clit, getting herself off, confident and unselfconscious. "Fuck," he mutters, watching her, and she mock-glares at him.

"Don't you dare come yet, Seth Meyers," she says, slowing down her movements until they're languid and torturing him, her hips grinding against his.

He laughs. "Yes, ma'am," he says, through gasping breaths, and she keeps riding him, all selfish, just focused on getting herself off on his dick, and it's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

From the noises she's making, it sounds like she's getting close, and she picks up the pace again, fucking down on him at one angle over and over, rubbing hard against him, and God, he's not going to last much longer. She lifts off higher than she has been and shoves herself down harder and he groans, because, just, fuck. She smiles and looks him in the eye and says, "Okay, Seth, okay, do you want to try to come together?" It's a game they play, romance novel orgasm, trying to synchronize, and Amy thinks it's hilarious.

"Let's do this," Seth says, rocking his hips up into her, getting his game face on, and she laughs.

"Okay," she says, still rocking on his cock, gasping for breath in between strokes. "I'm almost -- just, like, a few more, okay, are you almost --"

"Yeah," Seth says. "Count it down."

"Okay," Amy says, squeezing him hard inside so he gasps and almost loses it right then. She must see it in his face because she says, "Dammit, Seth, focus!"

"Right!" Seth says, barely getting himself back under control, pressing back up into her. It feels so weird to fuck her with no hands, just use his body, her hands roaming all over him and him not able to touch her back.

"All right," she says, rubbing her clit again, speeding up even more. "Five... four...."

He speeds up his movements to try to get there, but he totally misjudges, and God, she's so hot and wet and tight, and as she says three, he mutters, "Fuck," and starts coming, jerking up into her, totally losing his rhythm.

"Seth!" Amy says, laughing and hitting his arm, and she starts moving fast as he shoots off, trying to catch up to him. "Two-one!" she says fast, and then she's coming too, shuddering around him, but laughing through it, and God, she's like if sunshine were a person, he can't stand it. "Seth, get the fuck out of here!" she says, her breathing still ragged, her hips still moving on him as she finishes. "You ruined it!"

He leans forward and manages to kiss her, catch the corner of her mouth sloppily even with his hands wrenched to the side. "Sorry," he says, laughing too. "We'll get it next time."

"Yeah, we better," she grumbles, but she leans her head forward to butt against the bare skin of his collarbone, curling her body into him, small and warm. He wishes he could wrap his arms around her, but he has to settle for resting his chin on her head, letting her tuck her face into his neck. His arms are starting to hurt, held at this angle, and he should ask her to untie him, but he doesn't want her to move yet. He doesn't get a lot of moments like this -- he has to stretch out every one he can get, savor the feeling of her skin against his, listening to her breathing slow down and even out. He kisses the top of her head, smells her hair, and thinks that in another universe, he gets to feel this every night. He hopes the version of him that's there appreciates it.


End file.
